"But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." (Harold Pinter)

The pale sun light reflects on the pages of the book open on the table. From where she stands, she sees the children playing, beyond the garden, she hears their laughter, she can guess at the pretend war which is their game.

She, and they, have escaped: the real war is now far away. By this act of courage, or was it despair? – she’s saved them.